Just Tonight
by manhattanProject
Summary: She means nothing. This is just what I do. I am an artist. She is just my canvas. Her body is the perfect blank slate for me to use. But she is not my masterpiece. One-shot/song-fic to Just Tonight by The Pretty Reckless. Alex/Mitchie


**A/N: HAY, so I know a lot of you want me to update Alter The Ending but this story would not leave me alone so I wrote it first. It's a different style of writing again and it is also my first M rated story so bear with me here.**

**It didn't start out as a song-fic but the idea I had fit with the song so I just went with it.**

**Just Tonight by The Pretty Reckless. You don't need to know the song but it's a good song so go for it if you want but it's not necessary.**

**The whole thing is in Alex's POV for once. It might be confusing at times and I apologize in advance because this is VERY different from my other one-shots, but like I said, just bear with me.**

**Leave a review and let me know what you think whether you like it hate it or what have you. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Do I need one of these? I own nothing but my thoughts I guess.**

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><p>She's here again. I've seen her before, always with the same group of people but never actually <em>with<em> them. All of her friends look the same but she doesn't. She stands out. But that might just be a lapse in my judgment, considering how impaired it is. But even through my hazy vision and slightly diminished thought process I could easily see just how attractive she is.

She stands against the wall on the other side of the bar, bottle in hand, occasionally taking a sip and adding to conversation every now and then. But she's somewhere else, perhaps another planet, much like I am at the moment. But there is something about her that draws me to her. Something that always makes me notice that she is here.

My own friends are as unaware or maybe just as uncaring as hers. This is more or less a typical night. One that I would most likely not remember. But I am already past that point and I know how this night will end. And that's when our eyes would meet.

She pierces me with a stare so curious it's almost chilling and I briefly consider looking away but my level of intoxication is prohibiting me from making any rational decisions. She tilts her head to the side in a way that looks like it would be cute had it come from anyone else. But from her it's mysterious. From _her_ it's…different. Maybe in the daytime it would be endearing or charming. But I don't want to see her in the daytime. I don't want to see her when I'm sober.

"I told you she's gone, she can't even hear us." I can hear the words but for some reason cannot find the desire to turn towards the source of the voice. I know who it is anyway. "Ten bucks says I have the house to myself again."

"Shut up, Harper; I'm drunk not dead."

"Yet. And I know you're not just drunk. How much did you take tonight?"

"That's a good question."

"How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?" I have asked myself this every day for over a year now.

"That's a good question."

"Alex." I don't even know what she's saying.

"That's a good question."

"That wasn't a question." She's still staring at me with those eyes, like she's speaking to me yet there are no words. "Alex!"

"What?" My gin and tonic is far more interesting than Harper's incessant worrying of my well-being and quite possibly my sanity. While my roommate's borderline lamenting over my behavior as of late is unsettling I understand she is doing it because she cares. I just wish I did.

"Can you just be careful?" This request is as unnecessary as it is absurd. _Careful_. As if _I'm_ the one who has something to worry about. I'm too good at this now to get hurt. And by _too good_ I mean _under the influence of too many different substances_.

"Maybe later, I'll be right back." I wave her off as if she were some stranger hounding me on a Manhattan street corner to purchase something I don't need. Everything she says goes in one ear and right out the other anyway.

Having mastered this over the course of the year I know exactly what I'm doing as I make my way through the crowd of people dancing. What is _this_ exactly, though? _This_ is getting what I want. And what I want is that damn brunette with those alluring eyes and that enticing and sultry way she bites her lip as if she _doesn't_ know I'm staring at her just as often as she's staring at me.

She's still hanging in the back pretending to be engaged in conversation. But I don't go to her. I don't _go _to anyone. I keep her in my peripherals as I scan the bar for just the right person. Anyone but her. Not yet. There are a lot of people. It really wouldn't matter who; it's not like I'm going to end up with them anyway.

I don't know who she is. I don't know anything about her other than she comes here every Thursday night, much like I do, when drinks are the cheapest. I know she's into girls. I know she can dance; and she can fucking _dance_. And worst of all, I know she is confident. I can see it when she talks to people. But that makes things all the more fun for me. This is no longer a game; it's a challenge. And I accept every time.

No one notices how hard it is for me to walk properly with all the people in the crowd dancing all over each other. I'm not even on the floor for more than ten seconds before someone walks up behind me and puts their hands on my waist. The hands are too big, too strong, to be a girl's but I don't care.

A song with an easy rhythm plays and whoever is holding me moves my hips against him. I could stand here unmoving and would still be considered dancing. This isn't how things work. I grab his hands and spin around pressing up against his chest. He's decent looking but I could honestly care less.

Out of the corner of my eye she looks at me and I know I'm already winning. She walks in my direction, she looks determined. And she isn't just walking. No of course she isn't. She fucking saunters over and with purpose, like the most cunning of animals closing in on its prey. But I am nobody's prey.

The song fades into another and hands are finding their way to my waist again. They trail down my sides and, with a light grip, gently tug me backwards. These hands can't belong to the guy standing in front of me. I let go of my dance partner and let the new hands pull me away from him. I finally turn around; this is what I've been waiting for.

She knows what I'm doing and I don't mind. She knows I want her attention. And I got it. She pulls me even closer and wraps one arm around me but that's it. She lets me lead. I don't know what her angle is. I don't know what game _she's_ playing. But I seize the opportunity before she changes her mind.

Our bodies move against each other as the music seems to get louder and it's all I can hear. My heart rate accelerates with each beat of the bass pounding through the speakers. Her front is pressed against my back as we dance; my hips moving freely while hers just follow. I can feel her breath. We're close to where I want to be.

I bring my hand over my shoulder and into the hair behind her neck, letting my fingernails scrape over it. Her own hand moves from my waist to my stomach, slowly slipping under my shirt. My hips grind back into hers and I know it's only a matter of time. Her head dips only slightly and her lips are on the side of my throat. Time to finish what I started.

Her lips are soft and gentle but move with the utmost fervor, my eyes practically rolling to the back of my head as a result. She sucks the skin and her teeth just barely graze over it and I would never admit out loud that it drove me absolutely crazy. I would never tell her she had _any_ effect on me.

I finally turn back around and we are face to face. There is only a little light flashing over the two of us and I wish they would turn them off completely. I don't want to see how stunningly beautiful this girl is. I don't want to see this girl who is equally breathtaking and strikingly sexy. Her smoldering eyes lock on mine before she takes the risk first and her lips dive in towards their target. But I am never a target.

Before she can move any further I grab her by the back of her neck and pull her into me, smashing our lips together. I waste no time. The kiss needs to heat up but I don't _ask for permission_. I don't casually run my tongue along her bottom lip. I don't just push my tongue into her mouth either. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Letting go of her head, I trail my hands to the back of her shirt, sneaking my way to her pants. Once I reach the waist of her jeans I push our hips together, firmly gripping her ass in my hands. The sudden unexpected contact extracts a moan from her throat that I don't want to acknowledge is one of the sexiest things I've ever heard in my life. I let the music deafen me to every other noise she makes.

The second her mouth opens to utter those tantalizing sounds, I plunge forward and finally taste her. I expected beer but it was overpowered by whiskey and a potent mixture of marijuana with just a hint of sweetened tobacco; blunt wrappers or flavored dutches. Either way it confirms what I already assumed around five minutes ago. She's just as gone as I am.

I grow impatient. Impatient and aroused. We need to take this out of the bar before I start ripping her clothes off in front of everyone here. I pull her into me by her jeans again but dip my fingers past the waistline this time. I don't go further, only teasing, until she can't handle it anymore. She'll need to leave more than I would; just the way I want it.

She pulls her lips away from me and I study her eyes, glassed over with a look of both lust and intoxication. Her hands pull mine from her skinny jeans and she locks our fingers together before pulling me to the nearest exit. I let her lead and I follow blindly until my body is met with the relief of cold air blowing past me and I inhale deeply.

My breath is short lived and all air leaves my lungs once again as she presses her lips right back onto mine. My back hits brick and her hand cradles my head to stop the impact. It's thoughtful but I don't need someone looking out for me. And I definitely don't need to be the one trapped against the wall. This is my game and we play by my rules and my rules only.

Before I could turn us around she pulls her lips from mine ever so slightly, so that they are just hovering over them. But I can still feel her breath on me. It's darker out here than it is in the bar. The streetlights aren't enough for me to see much of her face. A smirk graces my lips and I push off of the wall and kiss her only once. I make sure to bite down on her lower lip and tug.

"My place," she mumbles against my skin and I can't tell if she is asking me or telling me. But I was right. She is confident. She goes after what she wants. But that's the difference between us. And that's why this is still my game and she is just a player.

"You live alone?" I move to her neck and waste no time in leaving my mark. I suck the sensitive flesh hard and I hear those noises again; those beautiful fucking noises. "What was that?" She whimpers and moans as I move to a new spot and she is either entirely too turned on or too drunk and stoned to comprehend anything at all let alone my questions. She settles for a nod and I wonder if she can feel me grinning against her collarbone. "Perfect."

"Mm…car." At this point she only speaks no more than a couple syllables at a time. But I stop to give her the chance to catch her breath and compose herself. She has a long night ahead of her anyway.

"Lead the way," I say, ironically enough. She grabs me by the hand and all but drags me across the parking lot. It doesn't even faze me that neither of us are in any condition to be behind the wheel. But this isn't the worst thing I have ever done. It doesn't worry me. I don't care.

We reach a black Ford Explorer and the second she unlocks it I let go of her hand and pull her into me by her waist. I want her to be more impatient than I am. I want her to not be able to make it home because she absolutely cannot wait. I want her to _beg_ for me to continue right here, right now.

I don't kiss her. My lips barely ghost over hers before trailing down her jaw line and then delicately press against the spot just below her ear. I can feel her pulse increasing at a rapid pace and I know I already have her right where I want her. She fumbles with her keys and tries to find the button to open the door. When she finally does she grabs my face to pull me away from her.

"Let's go," she breathes out, her voice dripping with want and, what I had expected, impatience. I smile and a short laugh falls from my lips. She wants to leave. And so do I. I need this to happen now. But I would never tell her that.

We waste no more time than we already did. But I would hardly call this part of the night a waste of time. It's necessary. Everything I do is necessary. At least that's what I tell myself when it's all over with. It's what I tell everyone. I need to in order to believe that I haven't gone completely off the deep end yet. No, not at all.

For someone as inebriated as she is she drives pretty well. She obeys all the rules of the road including stop signs and speed limits. But I want to see just how far I can push her. I want to see if the ball is still in my court. I want to know if she is still nothing but putty at this point. And that's when my hand finds its way to her thigh.

I don't rush this. I don't even need to. It just rests there, unmoving. But she notices. And her breath hitches. It slides upwards and she closes her eyes for a moment. She gives me a side glance, a warning. She wants to tell me to stop. But she doesn't want me to stop. I smile innocently and I am everything but.

By the time we reach a six story apartment she is already tearing off her seatbelt. She's out of the car faster than I am and before I know it she's holding my door open. Impatient or polite, I can't decipher her intentions. But I just sit and stare. Her hand is extended and I am expected to take it. But I don't.

The walk up to her floor is a blur and we are tangled in each other before we even fully walk through the front door. Our kisses are faster, sloppier even, and my brain is too clouded to process where we are going but we somehow end up in a bedroom. This isn't my house but this is my playing field. And I play to win.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the bed but the hands in my hair are now around my thighs, lifting me up. She slams me hard against the door and holds me close to her. My legs wrap around her waist in a tight grip as her tongue re-enters my mouth. I can feel the familiar ache in my bones every time pushes me against the wooden frame. The pain is home to me.

My lips are bruising; I can feel it. But so is the rest of my body. My head is pounding but I can't get enough. My legs are aching; everything is aching. I need this. With one hand supporting me she uses the other to lift up my shirt, my jacket already lying on the floor somewhere. When I'm in only my bra and jeans my blood starts to boil.

Her lips are full and perfect just above the material of my bra. My fingers find their way back into her hair and hold her against my chest. Before I know it my bra joins my jacket and a guttural moan echoes throughout the empty room. The heat coursing through my body is unbearable and I can feel myself growing weak.

With a fistful of soft brown hair in my hands I pull her head away from my breast. In one swift motion I drop my legs from her hips; her _gorgeous_ fucking hips. I grab those hips, her skin warm and inviting, and pick her up in my arms before throwing her on the bed. The lights are off but her eyes are as dark as the room. I could only bet mine are the same.

We're no longer in the bar or the parking lot or the car. There is no more teasing or tempting. I am a vulture going in for the kill as she lies on the mattress propped up on her elbows. I climb over her, straddle her just below the contours of her pelvic bone, and practically rip her shirt off. I don't _need_ any light to see how perfect her body is.

I shake the thought from my mind and focus. I don't do this. I don't _admire_ my work. But I cannot deny this just might be my most beautiful work yet. And I can't help but stare, _gawk_, at the girl lying under me. Her skin is smooth under my fingertips in contrast to my hands roughly caressing her sides. And I have to kiss her again.

Inch by inch my mouth disconnects and reconnects with her body, memorizing the feel and savoring the taste because I know I will forget when the sun comes up. And I _want_ to forget. I don't want to remember. I don't want there to be anything worth remembering. I don't want to be in pure bliss and I don't want this to be absolute ecstasy to me. She means nothing. This is just what I do.

I am an artist. She is just my canvas. Her body is the perfect blank slate for me to use. But she is not my masterpiece. I will not hang this up on my wall for everyone to see. I will not leave my signature so everyone knows that it is mine, that it _belongs_ to me. I will paint and draw and color and scribble all night long and crumple it in my hands and toss it in the trash with the rest of my scrap paper.

Her legs are as soft as the rest of her skin as I slide her jeans towards her ankles. They are kicked off and I let my hands wander. Her own find their way to my bare back and her fingernails dig into my shoulder blades. I feel the small crescents indent the skin, scratching and scraping down the length of my arms. Her whimpers turn to cries, cries of blinding pleasure, and she exhales. It's music to my ears. And I am the musician.

But we are not a band. Her labored breaths and loud moans are a symphony and I am conducting the orchestra. I am a skilled pianist, a professional drummer, and an expert guitar player. She is my instrument. I tune her to make sure she sounds just right. And once she's ready I play.

My fingers work against her like I had practiced before. I know how to move to make the perfect melody of desperate gasps and satisfied screams. I play but never sing. All I want to hear is the sound that results from each note I play. But I don't want to make a _full_ song. The beat will go on for as long as I desire. But I will never finish.

Her fingers are in my hair again as she writhes under the weight of my body. My hands, my fingers, are busy playing. I strum, stop, tighten the strings, and strum again. Her hands try to travel down to my jeans and she briefly succeeds, removing them from my waist and tugging them down; my underwear soon follows. But this is my song and my instrument cannot play me back.

I find myself involuntarily humming along to the sounds. My eyes squeeze shut as she thrusts back up against me. She continues this motion until I finally utter the first lyrics and that's when she rolls us over. She thinks she can take charge and for a split second, she does. I am lost in her touch and before I can stop it I had already written the first verse and we are nearing the chorus; a chorus that we will write together if I didn't put an end to it now.

One of my hands holds her even tighter while the other moves rapidly. Each chord I strike is harder, faster. I wanted to play so intensely that the strings would snap. I wanted to push her so that she makes sounds she's never made before. She may have been on top but I was still in control. I will always be the one in control.

My fingers pick up the pace as they move in and out of her in a steady rhythm. She arches her back and her face twists and contorts in pleasure. She places her hands on my chest; she needs balance and support and I give it to her. Her hips buck back and forth both sensually and hastily. I sit up, wrapping my arm tightly around her until our naked bodies mold together, and I kiss her again as I finish playing.

Her nails dig into my back again and she bites down on the tender skin between my neck and collarbone. A muffled cry joins the rest of the music in the room before she collapses in my embrace. Her heavy panting is all that can be heard now. Our bodies shine with sweat and I allow her a full ten seconds to come back down from her climax before I roll us back over and start the song all over again.

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><p>Even with my eyes closed I could feel the sun beating down against the lids. It was warm against my skin but something didn't feel right. I ignore the excruciating aching in my limbs and stretch my arms and legs but there isn't much room to move. I roll over onto my side and my eyes widen despite the intense light in the room. And that's when it hits me. <em>It's the morning<em>.

This isn't supposed to happen. I sit up and look over to a nearby nightstand and find a clock; 6:07 AM. I shouldn't be here right now. I should have left last night. I should have been out of here before the sun came up. But yet here I am, completely naked, lying next to…oh God, it's _her_.

I quickly avert my eyes and look elsewhere. I don't want to look at her. This is why I always leave before the crack of dawn. The second the sun starts pouring in through the blinds it's my cue to get out. I don't want to see anyone after. I don't want to see my mistake from last night sleeping peacefully next to me.

But just like last night, something draws me to her and I find myself turning my head back in her direction. The light shines down, casting a soft glow on her golden skin. But it's tainted. I tainted the otherwise perfect complexion. Patches of light blue and purple decorate her arms and waist. I turn away again. I can't look at her. _This_ is why I didn't want to stay this long.

Hoping not to wake the worn out girl next to me, I slither my way out like the snake that I am. I scan the room for my clothes in a long forgotten pile scattered across the floor. I pick up my things and dress myself quickly, not making a single noise in the process. I had to get out of here _now_. She remains sound asleep.

With all of my clothes on I chance one last fleeting look her way. She looks different. They always do in the light. Her hair is lighter, a softer looking brown. Her face is the same from what I could remember. But there is something else there now. I look at her for a moment longer and it's all I need to confirm what I had thought last night. She is absolutely beautiful. And that's when I leave.

I am on a perpetual walk of shame. I have no idea where I am but the area isn't all that unfamiliar. I walk until I find a street name that rings a bell in my mind and I continue from there. This is nothing new to me; finding my way back home. I ignore the pain in my body and the disgust and utter revulsion I feel for myself and eventually make it to my apartment where an earful of scolding awaits me once again.

I am greeted by dead silence and I breathe a sigh as I shut the door behind me. I throw my jacket on the nearest chair and head to my room. But before I can confine myself to my bed and drown myself in my thoughts and self-pity my door reopens revealing a half-asleep and confused redhead.

"Did you just get home?" she asks almost incredulously. I would be shocked if I was her too. My state of dress and my disheveled appearance are a dead giveaway. I don't answer her. "Aren't you like…two or three hours late?" This is meant to be comical, I can tell. But I just want to sleep and forget everything, or forget what I can remember anyway.

"I accidently overslept."

"She must've been good to keep your attention _all_ night."

"Don't be ridiculous Harper I was just tired." I am lying through my teeth and it takes a lot to even admit that to myself.

"Sure you were."

"Can I go to bed now? I'm exhausted."

"Are you going to wake up before noon? Don't forget we're going out to lunch with Jen and Steph later."

"Yeah whatever don't worry I'll be up." She seems to take my word for it and leaves me alone in my bedroom and I cannot keep my eyes open any longer.

When I finally open them again it's because I'm being shaken. My head is pounding worse than before and it's spinning madly. Every drink I consumed last night feels like it is slowly rising. With a sudden rush of energy I get up and push past my roommate and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. But it could have been a combination of the drinks and the shame. I can't really tell anymore.

"So I'm guessing you're ready to go?" she asks, sarcasm clear in her voice.

"Yeah I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"Alex, look at you. You're not fine. How many times are you going to do this before you realize that things _aren't_ getting better?"

"What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that you're just hurting yourself and everyone you sleep with."

"I'm not hurting anyone; I'm just having fun. I'm sick of relationships. It's not like I'm gonna see any of these people ever again. I move on to the next one."

"And what happens when the person you move on to happens to be someone you might actually want to see again." My mind immediately flashes back to the brunette last night; her lips, her legs, her skin, and those fucking eyes that put me in a trance.

"That's never going to happen. Now let me get dressed so we can get out of here."

The diner isn't far from our place but we drive regardless. I am far too worn out to even consider walking any distance at the moment. I just want to eat something and then go home and sleep again. My legs burn as I walk out of the car and into the restaurant. Our friends are already waiting for us.

"Well, look who it is. _Someone_ had a rough night." The jokes start immediately. I fake a smile and laugh along so no one will notice just how much pain I am in.

"Seriously, I think you've met your match with this girl. She did a number on you." My eyes travel down to my body and I regret wearing a shirt that is sleeveless. Bruises that matched the ones I saw on the brunette this morning are on my arms and I can only imagine where else they could be. "Or did you just get attacked by a bear?"

"Please, if you think _I'm _bad," I start, a slight smirk playing on my lips, "you should see _her_."

"Oh man, so how was it?" Phenomenal, mind-blowing, hypnotizing, agonizing, sloppy, painful.

"Fucking amazing." It's like this every time. I don't notice how bad my body is until the next day, usually when it's pointed out by someone else. _Oh, no I don't feel a thing. It was really kinky. The hottest sex I've ever had_. And I show off my bruises like they are trophies, like they are something to brag about. But I feel it. I feel everything.

The truth is I _need_ these bruises. I need to feel something every time I have sex. Or else I literally feel nothing. All of these girls mean nothing and I feel absolutely nothing when I am with them. I play the music and before it can end I hit repeat and start from the beginning. Without the pain I have nothing.

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><p>New week, new target, new game; it's usually how my Thursday's play out. I make my return to the bar and scope out for someone new. But I've grown bored and start thinking that just maybe Harper might be right. But I know I won't listen. And I will drink until I'm numb and sleep with whoever I choose. And then I see <em>her<em>.

Her half priced drink sits in her hand as she stares down at it, idly swishing it around. The ice shakes in the glass and the light brown translucent liquid moves around it; whiskey, her drink of choice perhaps. My drink was now only ice and I head over to the bar to get a refill. She sees me right away. Our eyes meet.

"Hey." Her voice is like the sweetest honey and I would say it was as nice as I remember it but I don't remember it. And I am already too drunk to think that far back.

"Hey."

"What are you drinking?"

"Gin and tonic." I wonder if our conversation will last longer tonight than it did last week before we're in bed together. Because tonight she's the one I want. Again. She turns to the bartender and in no time a full glass is placed in my hand. "Thank you." I eye her curiously. I almost never encounter my one night stands again and I most certainly don't sleep with them again. But like I said, there is something about her.

"You're welcome."

"You here by yourself?" She nods her head to the side, in the direction of a crowd of people dancing.

"Friend left me for a guy." I take a large sip from my glass.

"Why aren't _you_ out there?"

"No one's caught my eye. What's your excuse?"

"You're sitting over here." There it is again. She tilts her head and her eyes darken. Like she is trying to figure me out. But she never will.

"Well then…" She downs the last few sips of her whiskey and stands from her seat. "After you…" Her hand gestures towards the crowd and one of my eyebrows rise. But I still follow suit and quickly throw back the rest of my own drink before meeting her on the dance floor.

It's a repeat of last week minus a random bystander to act as bait. I don't need bait. I already have her. And even after sleeping with her and leaving her the next morning she still comes back for more. And she still moves better than any other girl I have ever seen in my entire life. Those hips of hers will be the death of me, I swear it.

But she angers me. This tantalizing, gorgeous creature has me wrapped up in her _again_ and I cannot stand it. I'm supposed to be with someone I have never met before and will never see again and yet I am dancing with someone _familiar_. I am dancing with someone I have had already and I somehow want _more_.

With the way she's grinding into me I don't think we're going to make it to her place this time. That and I absolutely refuse to go back there, to a place where I actually _stayed_. She's holding me tightly and my vision is already going. I am drunk off of beers and gin and the feeling of her lips on mine. She wastes less time than I do.

Her apartment is too far. And I'm sure her car is too far. One song ends and another begins. Two songs play and her hands are in my hair. She sucks my bottom lip between hers and then her tongue moves in. Her crotch is pressed against mine and that ache between my legs is back. One more song and I need to make my own music.

I pull her away from me and drag her to the restroom. It's for only one person but it will have to do. She doesn't seem to mind as she resumes kissing me the second the door closes behind us. Old bruises become new again when I slam her back against the wall. My hand finds its way down her jeans and my song starts playing. Her moans fill my ears.

We fumble like we are wrestling with each other. Back and forth we try to turn the tables and each time we bump into a door or the wall or the sink or the toilet. I finally pin her against the door and detach my lips from hers and reattach them to her neck until she stops trying to take control.

I mark her once again before picking her up and dropping her on the sink. Without warning I grip her jeans in my hands and yank them down just enough to spread her legs. Her hands are in my hair pulling me closer. I plant one hand on each thigh and rub them slowly. I want to taste her. But I want to hear her scream for me to do something.

"Oh my God, _please_, before I lose my fucking mind," she husks and I bring her black panties down with her jeans and waste no more time. Her knees buckle at the contact of my tongue on her and she bites down on her wrist to stifle her sounds. The music from the bar is too loud for anyone to hear what we are doing though and I want to hear my song as I play it.

I reach up and pull her hand away and a loud moan rips through her throat. I alternate the way I play to ensure that she has made every sound she could possibly make; faster, slower, then faster again. I add my fingers into the mix and continue at a regular pace until she cries out. My solo is over but the song doesn't end. I'm done painting but it won't make it on my wall. I'll clean up the mess and start over from scratch.

* * *

><p>This…encounter continues for a while. This is the longest one night stand I have ever had but I needed more of her. We've learned where the other lives and we are frequent visitors. I show up, she shows up and the routine begins. It's the same every time and for once I absolutely <em>loved<em> it. But I wouldn't tell her that.

She is different now. She is more jaded, more distant. Like she doesn't want to but can't help herself. Like she is…well,_ me_. We are rougher, _kinkier_, as I like to tell my friends. But I am dying on the inside. I don't know why I keep coming back for more or why I keep letting her come back but I absolutely fucking hate myself.

I slipped up one time. I wanted to see her. I wanted to see her _bad_. It happened at the bar but we ended up at her place and I slept there. I woke up and it was day time again. She had asked me to spend the night and something in my mind told me to stay. So I told her I would. And she believed me. But I could not for the life of me bring myself to stay. And now we are face to face in this damn apartment of hers once again.

"What do you want?" she asks the second she opens the door. Her tone is cold, not the warm, sweet honey-like melody I am used to. And it is unsettling to hear her talk like this.

"Whoa what's with the attitude?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Her response is justified and I deserve it and much more for the crap I do to her…and everyone else for that matter. "You know what? Just leave me alone, that shouldn't be too hard for you to do."

"Oh like you're one to talk. You didn't seem to have a problem with it the first few times. And as I recall I didn't hear any complaints all those times I had you screaming in your bed…or mine…or the bathroom…or your car…or-"

"Alright what the _fuck_ ever. Okay? I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry I thought things might change, I'm sorry for believing you when you said you would stay for once. I'm sorry that I actually wanted you around."

"Why the _fuck_ would you even want me around? You knew what this was the second we laid eyes on each other. So I say you stop whatever this is you're trying to do and give in to what you know is gonna happen…what you know you _want_ to happen." I step closer, placing a hand on her waist but to my surprise she actually steps back. She _never_ steps back.

"And what makes you think I want this anymore? After the crap you keep pulling it's just not worth it. And I can't believe I actually thought you would be worth it." She is getting under my skin. No one has ever called me out on any of the things I pull. And now I don't know how to deal.

"Why would you think I would be? I'm just some girl you danced with at a bar and then fucked for a month." I cross my arms against my chest; my own way of feeling like I am protecting myself. It's the only way I can at this point.

"What do you want me to say! I didn't want to get attached but damn it you can't tell me this means _nothing_ if it keeps happening. I wanted you to stay because I didn't think you would be just some random fuck, okay? I thought you were different from everyone else. I didn't want to want you but I couldn't stop thinking about you." I couldn't stop thinking about her either but again I will never tell her that. I blink twice and stare at her not knowing what else to say.

"You don't even know me."

"It doesn't matter."

"I will pay you one hundred dollars, _right now_, to tell me my name. Go ahead, I dare you," I challenge and watch as her eyes narrow. She looks pissed.

"I'll pay you _five_ hundred to tell me mine," she bites back and I know she's right. Our conversations don't last long and we spend more time naked and in bed together. But I am used to this.

"Don't act like the victim. You were doing the exact same thing to me."

"Doing _what_ exactly, huh? Using you? Having painful sex over and over to feel something because you haven't felt _anything_ in maybe a year or two? Fighting to be in control because it's the _only_ thing in your life you have control over? What? Did someone fuck you up so badly that you find it impossible to trust anyone? Or let them close enough to actually be tender with them? You have to numb yourself to the pain but even though you don't feel it you know you're slowly dying on the inside?" Her rant finishes and I stare at her in shock. My jaw drops slightly and I cannot fathom how she managed to look into my soul and say out loud everything that has been eating away at me. Or maybe everything that's been eating away at _her_."Yeah, you're right. I did, maybe at one point. But unlike you I grew tired of this. And I wanted something real for _once_. The first night we spent together I wanted to wake up and see that you were still there. Because even though we only met from a drunken dance encounter I _wanted_ to know you, to _actually_ know you. But you left and I realized that you were just like the rest of them."

"You never said anything after either though."

"Oh God forbid I give _anybody_ a chance but you're just a fucking coward. You don't let anyone touch you or even get close to you. Maybe if you stopped wondering when all this shit will stop, it actually will. Maybe it isn't everyone else that's the problem. Maybe it's _you_." I draw in a deep breath and feel its shakiness as I breathe out.

"I'm not worth it. You don't want to get involved with me. One of us is going to get hurt." I don't want to admit what I know is true, one fear I never wanted voice since I laid eyes on the beautiful brunette. "And…I don't…I don't want it to be you. So let's just…stop this." Her features noticeably soften and she reaches out her hand to touch my cheek in such a caring way that it almost brings a tear to my eye. I haven't felt a comforting touch like this since before I met her.

"Why don't you let me take that risk for myself…if you will just give me…or _anyone_ a chance." I involuntarily lean into her touch and feel my eyes shut. When they reopen she is closer to me. We are face to face and she moves her other hand to the other side of my face, pulling me into kiss me. Our lips barely touch. It's not a lustful or heated kiss. It's soft and…actually sweet for once.

"Why do you want me? I'm not good in relationships."

"I didn't say this had to be a relationship…I just want you to stay…just this once."

"That's it? That's all you want?"

"No." I don't get my hopes up. I never did and I still don't. I know better than to do that. "I want to spend the night with you…just _one _night, because I _know_ I can't get enough of you for some reason. And when I wake up I actually want to see you still lying next to me. I want to see you when I'm sober for once." I don't know why but she has never looked more attractive to me since the second I saw her in that bar.

I don't say anything. Words won't help; they never do. Instead I wrap my arms around her neck and press my lips hard against hers. She kisses back almost instantly and I can hear the intro to the song playing. I have gone through tons of sheet music, too many instruments to count, and too much scrap paper. I throw it away and move on to another. And when I'm done with her I would do it again; start over new.

But now it's not the same. I won't go find new paper. I'll continue on the same one in hopes to make it better, to improve. Maybe it's not over. Maybe I can't finish because I never tried to fix it. I always gave up and started again. I never stopped to realize that it actually had potential all along. It was there, I just needed to finish what I started.

And when my painting is nearly complete, when my song is coming to its bridge, she joins me. Her chest heaving against mine brings me to new levels of passion. She flips us over and for the first time, I let her. She is finishing my song for me. The song that has never had an ending is finally coming to a close. The concert is almost over and she will be there when it's curtain call. She is no longer my canvas. She is not just my instrument, but my muse, my inspiration.

Everything in me tells me to not let this happen. Everything screams at me to stay in control but I had to let go. A musician is nothing without their instrument. An artist is nothing without the proper tools to make something worth keeping, a masterpiece. Her hands move faster to bring me over the edge, my own climax, and I belt out the final lyrics of the song. It's no longer mine. It's _ours_. We wrote it together.

But I want a final part. This song has to end in a chorus and I am determined to have her join me in it. My own fingers travel down her body until they find her heated core and before I finish I bring her with me. I quicken my pace until she is shaking above me and cannot support herself anymore. Her body falls limp and I hold on tight, letting the last of the soft melody lull me to serenity.

When I peel my eyes open again I am met with my worst nightmare; sunlight. But this time I am not consumed with fear or shame. I look over to my right and the brunette is laying next to me still, her arm loosely draped over my waist. The pain I usually feel is nowhere to be found. I give my body a quick once-over and I am bruise-free for once. A sigh escapes me but my nerves are still shot.

I lay there unmoving trying to take everything in when the body next to me stirs and then turns over. The light coming in through the window shines down on her flawless features and a smile forms on my lips without me allowing it to happen. But I can't fight it. And her eyes open. And staring into them now, I feel no regret.

"Good morning." I never thought I would say that to someone other than my roommate ever again.

"Good morning." Her voice even sounds beautiful right when she wakes up. "You stayed."

"I know." We both sit up straight and face each other.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I needed to stop wondering when it would all stop. You were right. And…I couldn't stay away from you either," I admit despite myself and she smiles. It's warm like the rays of sunlight pouring in the room and drenching our skin.

"So now that you're awake are you going to leave again?"

"No." Her smile brightens and I wonder how I had the heart to not give her a chance before last night. "Not until I take you out on an actual date. Because even if I've had you so many times…I want to know you…and I mean _really_ know you." I extend my hand toward her and she tilts her head. I was right. It's adorable. "I'm Alex." She chuckles quietly and even her laugh makes me melt. How can someone I hardly know have such an effect on me? She takes my hand to shake it formerly.

"I'm Mitchie." Even her name is music to my ears. "It's nice to finally meet you." It's music to a song that I cannot get enough of. It's a song that I for once want to play over and over and over again. From start to finish.


End file.
